Through the Bars
by PotterPhantomKitten
Summary: AU. 6 has lived in a facility for much of his life - a torturous place of bars and wires. Tortured and scarred, 6 eventually tries to escape, running into a group of stitchpunks from the outside. Can 6 trust them, and be freed from 1's control?


**A/N: Hi there, everyone! I got this idea yesterday while playing a Lord of the Rings Conquest game and thinking about the movie "The Black Cauldron", so yeah! I guess the Helm's Deep interior kind of made me think of a prison hold, and one room was called the Throne Room, so that was probably the main way it got started in my head! I haven't really seen any 9 AU fics, and the idea kept floating around my brain, so I thought "Hey, why not?" Enough with my rambling Author's Note, let's start the fic, shall we? **

**Disclaimer: I do not own 9.**

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A pair of mismatched optics blinked in the darkness, wide, pained, and frightened. The one whom those optics belonged to tried to be quiet in his movements, but his pen-nib fingers lightly ran over the walls, almost as if feeling for something. It was just more of a comfort to touch stone than it was to touch nothing but shadows. A shiver passed through the figure's body, and it opened its mouth in a hoarse whisper.

"Dark."

The stitchpunk whispered to the stone walls surrounding him, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. He just stared blankly at the various hard blocks that made up these walls - there were no windows where he was. How much time had passed since he'd been here? Years, he knew.

He didn't say another word, his mismatched optics blinking slowly as he surveyed his dark enclosure. He didn't _dare_ to say anything more - what if the Leader heard? The striped stitchpunk shuddered at the thought, backing up against the stone wall as if it would protect him. He knew it wouldn't, though - nothing protected him.

But that was to be expected - the Leader was called 1, the leader of this whole place. Despite its vastness, seeming almost to have an endless amount of tunnels, 1 somehow seemed to know what was going on all throughout the facility - or at least, he almost always seemed to know where 6 was.

That was the young stitchpunk's name - 6. He was no more than 13 years old, but very timid. After looking back and forth down the hallway he was in, he picked up the pace, frantically searching with his optics for something... yes, there was one!

6 carefully peeked through a small window that let just a shred of moonlight shine though. However, the hole was big enough for 6 to at least see part of the night sky, but mostly the stone walls and the long, thin black wires around the entire perimeter that 6 could see.

"Black Wire Place," he whispered to himself, scribbling a small sketch of it on a shred of paper he held in his hand. That was what he called this place - the "Black Wire Place" - he wasn't sure if it had another name, and he was always afraid to ask.

Especially 1. He couldn't ask 1.

He couldn't remember much of his life before "Black Wire Place" - all he did remember was one moment in particular. Hard as it was, 6 closed his optics for a moment and let it come to him...

_... 6 had been about two years old at the time. There was wind. Sand. Darkness. A sandstorm, he guessed. The wind caused many tiny grains of sand to hit his optics, which he frantically got away. It hurt... everything hurt._

_His pen-nib-like fingers clung desperately to something - a rock, maybe? - trying to seek a sort of comfort in this darkness. 6 tried to get up and run, but something nudged him hard, and he fell roughly to the ground._

_There were others. 6 remembered that, at least. It might even have been another stitchpunk who shoved him down. But he couldn't remember what the other stitchpunks were doing or saying. Try as he might, he couldn't remember._

_A blinding flash, followed by a searing heat, followed. Disoriented, he tried to run, but in the midst of the fire, sand, and voices, the frightened young stitchpunk had no idea where to go._

_Just as he felt he could bear it no longer, a pair of hands suddenly wrapped around the little stitchpunk, lifting him up from the ground. He was just turning his head up to look at the one who had saved him before he lost consciousness, fading into darkness..._

"Who's there?"

Upon hearing the voice, 6 immediately jolted out of his memory. Shrinking back against the cold walls, he tried to make himself as small as possible. The other stitchpunk however, saw him, but smiled in a kind way.

"Hello there, 6."

6 moved away from the wall, but only very slightly. He knew that voice, at least.

"58," he whispered in relief, smiling a little, yet still staying by the wall.

58's burlap skin was a very light brown color, a small tuft of black thread on top of her head. Her steel fingers reached out a little toward 6, but he didn't quite return the gesture - just gave her a weak smile of acknowledgment..

"You okay?"

6 glanced out through the small window with a sad expression in his optics.

"Thinking, huh?"

6 just nodded.

"I remember what it was like before I came here," 58 sighed. "I used to live where this valley was. But now..." she trailed off, trying to hide the long scar that was on her left arm. "I never meant to..." she whispered, "it was an accident!"

6 gently put his hand on hers, trying to comfort her. The "Black Wire Place" was a kind of prison, a place where stitchpunks were sent who had committed crimes. At least, that was what some had said. But one or two had said to 6 that barely anyone knew about this place - that was the only time he had ever seen them.

But if this place really was a prison, then why was 6 here?

It was much more of a torture chamber, really.

At that moment, an icy voice stopped the two of them cold.

_"6!"_

6 and 58 whirled around to see 1 glaring at them.

"You," he said firmly to 58, "get back to where you belong!"

One of the guards, 423, came from behind 1 and dragged her away from 6 - but not before smacking her firmly on the shoulder.

6 opened his mouth to call out, but cringed under 1's icy warning glare, clamping his mouth shut.

"Come with me." 1 roughly grabbed 6's left hand and forcefully pulled him through a myriad of hallways and stairs. There was no way that 6 could keep track of their direction. He knew where they were going, however.

At last they reached a doorway, which looked like many of the other doors in the place - dingy-looking things made of stone and steel - aside from the fact that the doorknob was golden. Scowling, 1 shoved 6 into the room before following after, locking the door behind them.

6 slammed into a wall, reeling a bit from the force of the impact. Upon seeing 1 stroll over to him, and 8, the head guard, standing nearby, he trembled violently, wishing with all his heart that he was somewhere else.

"What were you doing?!" 1 snapped, tugging 6 up by his yarn hair and placing his crooked staff around the trembling stitchpunk's neck. "Have you forgotten what I told you about conversing with them?"

6 said nothing, his frightened optics staring into 1's.

1 actually smiled - a rare thing - but it was a stern, cold smile. "At least you remembered not to speak!" He released his hold on 6's hair, but still dug the edges of his crooked red staff into 6's neck.

"You are only to watch the prisoners and report what they do, not socialize!" 1 snarled, shooting a hostile glance at the younger stitchpunk. "Something could happen!"

"Outside?" 6 suddenly asked hoarsely, surprising 1.

"What?" 1's voice was low and threatening. How dare 6 even attempt to speak!

"Can I?"

1's optics narrowed when he realized what 6 was asking. "NO!" he shouted, slapping him roughly on the cheek. "I've given you orders! Do not leave, do not speak! You have a home here, and you repay me with this insolence?!"

"But-"

"I said _don't speak!_" 1 hissed, furious now. Before the younger stitchpunk could react, 1 grabbed his hand and forcefully twisted his fingers, as if threatening to break them. "You have lived here all your life, and you shall not leave! Simple as that!" With those words, he lifted his staff and hurled 6 into the stone wall, not even a hint of remorse written on his face.

6's optics watered, his head pounding as he struggled to stand. Why did 1 torture him like this?! "1-"

"Do NOT speak, 6!" 1 bellowed, gripping one of 6's wrists and slowly beginning to twist it. "Have you forgotten that it was _I_ who rescued you from the cold, harsh atmosphere of the world outside, long ago?! Is it not better that you are here, rather than dead? You would have succumbed to the darkness, but I brought you here ... People die here, but I allow you to stay here - and this is the thanks I get for keeping you alive?"

Cringing in pain, 6 stared at 1 with a desperate, petrified plea in his optics. Fearing that 1 would break his wrist, he quickly gasped out one word: "Sorry!"

1 frowned coldly before releasing his grip on 6's wrist and knocking him to the floor. "Remember this, 6 - I have been in the outside world, and it was nothing but dust, fire, and darkness when I found you! I rescued you when you were small, helpless, about to die! Now, you must remain here, where I can keep you, away from the world! Don't I deserve obedience for allowing you to live?"

Trembling with fear and pain, 6 nodded.

"Go then," 1 barked, pulling on the younger stitchpunk by his arm, forcing him to stand. "Go!"

"And don't get any ideas about leaving!" 8 called, laughing cruelly as he punched 6 on the shoulder.

For a moment, 1's gaze rested on the three dark symbols that seemed to be tattooed on the upper part of 6's left arm. He noticed the younger stitchpunk follow his gaze. All they both knew about it was that 6 had those symbols ever since 1 found him.

"Good thing I've conditioned you into being practically mute," 1 said firmly to 6, getting a keyring with a group of keys on it. He tried fitting a small black skeleton key into the hole, but it didn't work. "Blasted key," he muttered, "can't be used for anything!" He put the correct key, a slightly more polished one, into the door, unlocking it and shoving 6 out the door. "Take this," he snarled, hurling the key at the younger stitchpunk so it hit him, "good-for-nothing thing... fitting that you should have it!" With that, he slammed the door.

Trembling, 6 stood up, bruised and battered, aching all over. Looking down at his new key, he clutched it tightly in his hands, holding it close as he glanced out another small window at the black wire surrounding the place.

"Cruel place..." 6 whispered shakily, clutching his key protectively. "Need to leave..."

Running his fingers over his new possession that brought him solace, 6 whispered, "Afraid of others... scared... must have hope."

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**A/N: Whew, done! I know, I made 1 really cruel, didn't I? Hope you liked this first chapter!**


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